Tuberose
by Citrus Newt
Summary: Love. It wasn't something I had believed in as a saving grace or a strong power. It was an emotion; nothing more or less. But when it finally hit me, I found myself in love with the one who should have been my worst enemy.
1. Cyclamen

(Disclaimer: Inuyasha is not mine.)

**Cyclamen**

Regret.

I am told that it's a feeling you get when everything's gone wrong. When the world seems against you and you wish that things had taken a different path. That you had made a different choice.

Perhaps I should regret my actions. Maybe it would have been better it we had gone our separate ways, never touching each others' lives; never known of each others' existence.

But I don't. Maybe it's even fair to say that I can't. Because if we had never met, then I do not think I would truly have lived.

No matter how much it hurt at times, no matter how painful it could be, I would rather have had this one time with him, than spent a lifetime alone.

It is our choices that determine who we are. And if I were to have a second chance, I would make those same choices again, no matter I knew the cost.

And now, all I can do is wait, watching the sunset, as it seems the world begins to become grey and cold.


	2. Purple Lilac

Hello! Well, this is my new story, written in a style that is foreign to me in the hope of clearing my writer's block; updates will probably be erratic at best since time is somewhat lacking to me right now, but I've always wanted to write a cliché romance fic, so I'll probably see this through to the end.

Chapter titles are all linked to the flower code, I'll put meanings at the bottom of each chapter.

Disclaimer: Inuyasha does not belong to me.

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Purple Lilac

Hindsight is a wonderful thing. I can look back - oh how far away it seems now – and see everything that happened so very clearly, though it seemed a blurred muddle at the time – like when you look at something through a crystal, and it seems beautiful but tinted; you don't get the full picture.

Explaining this isn't working, is it?

Then maybe I should try telling our story. That way, perhaps they'll understand a little better, although I'm not sure it really matters any more.

It was one of those days in the summer where the sun seems to be simply too bright, and there is not the faintest whisper of a breeze. The sky was a clear, deep blue, and looking up one could almost lose oneself in the rich colour.

Even the buildings appeared hot; the pointed arches in the doorways seeming to wilt and the high sandstone walls peppered with open grates and shutters, hoping to tempt a non-existent breeze into the white-washed rooms inside. The dust seemed thick on the unpaved streets, and even coated the awnings of many of the merchants who lined the road, creating the impression of a city of sand.

I suppose that impression was not particularly far from the truth. For those of you who don't know, (and I don't see why you should), Tokyo, my city and, back then, my world, is bordered by desert on both East and South sides; hot, dry, dusty desert which seems to stretch on for miles and miles, until the horizon, and then you have to stop looking because the bright sun and heat causes your vision to shimmer and warp. When I was younger, I used to look upon that horizon from my room, and stare at the caravans which sometimes come through our city and wonder how any nomad could survive such a shimmery, dusty, dry place.

Tokyo is situated on the banks of a fast-flowing river, called the Tama, from which it gets all of its water and I could possibly say its life, because the water feeds the lowland fields at the northern edge of the city from which we get most of our crops, and merchants use the Tama to travel to Tokyo with their wares.

Directly opposite Tokyo, on the other side of the Tama, is the city of Edo. This city is Tokyo's rival in many areas, particularly in trade, so at that point in time I had not visited the city I could see from my high room in Tokyo, but it was a sight I was familiar with, for I would sometimes gaze out over the river to look at the small sandstone buildings with their narrow streets and the palace which stands at the other side of the city, ornately decorated with colour and carvings and high, rounded towers. I would often look at that palace out of my own window and wonder if the inside was just as grand as the outside, like our palace was.

I say 'our' palace because I was – I still am, actually – the granddaughter of the leader of Tokyo. Princess, if you would like. Sounds very silly, doesn't it? I've never been fond of the title, because there are simply too many rules associated with such a role. For one, I have to be on my best behaviour when Grampa goes off on one about 'in my day' and not yawn, or fall asleep, or generally do anything un-princess-like. That's not to say I don't love my grandfather; I do, I really do. He's a good leader, fair and just – he can be a little hot-headed and eccentric sometimes. (He gave me the foot of a so-called water demon for my last birthday. A water-demon, I ask you! I don't believe for one minute that a water-demon would willingly give up a foot, even if it _was _for a princess. But I digress.)

In any case, despite him being a little annoying sometimes, I'm proud to be called his granddaughter, and the same goes for my little brother, Souta, who's five years younger than me and still working on getting a princely attitude together. Then there's my mother, Arisa, and my cat, Buyo in our family.

Anyway, on this particular day, despite the heat, the city was a mass of life and colour. Everywhere I walked, I could see the flowing garments of my people, sarongs and wraps thrown on to cover themselves from the sun. The merchants were shouting their wares for all they were worth, and I had to walk quickly despite the beating sun to avoid getting my sandaled feet completely squashed by the gaggle of women crowding outside a cloth-merchant who was bellowing an unusually low price for some very nice silk.

I shifted my headscarf so it covered my face a little more. I had no wish to be recognised crowded by merchants begging me to try their fruit, to take some cloth or a necklace. It has happened to me before – and although it is a gratifying feeling that the people love my grandfather and his family enough to dote upon the younger princess (my mother is also a princess for as long as my grandfather is the leader), I would really rather remain anonymous.

Still, I would often sneak into the city with my head covered by a brightly-coloured scarf in order to really understand what the people felt and believed and suffered. After all, if I had been born to someone else, I would be one of these people; maybe that young mother juggling a child and two large water-melons in her arms as she bartered with an old man for a terracotta pot, or maybe that girl who stood at the street corner, a small cat at her heels, looking desperately for something – or maybe someone; I couldn't tell.

The hustle and bustle of the market always seemed to relax me, and I did love watching the people as they busied themselves with everyday chores; drawing water for the well, readying sacks of grain for trade with the merchants moored on our side of the river, bartering for all they were worth for the week's bread, all the while avoiding the children who ran around the streets playing with balls and usually were followed by frantic mothers carrying purchases under one arm.

As I walked, I noticed a young boy in the shadow of one of the side-streets, staring longingly at the baker's directly opposite. I was too far away at this point to make out any clear facial features, but his raggedy, dirty clothes let me recognise him as an orphan right away.

I love my city, but I have never loved – and never will – the culture that allows such young children as this to beg and scavenge for food, or starve. This boy was clearly a street rat, from the lack of shoes to the ripped and torn blue clothes. I decided that I had a little time before I had to be back at the palace, and I could help him.

As I approached the alleyway – subtly, not wishing to scare the scrap off, I was surprised to note that I was actually dealing with not a street-_rat _but a street-_fox. _Poor thing, the little kit didn't look much older than six; yet his large green eyes were guarded and his red-brown hair was pulled into a high knot, presumably to keep it out of the way. I admit, I was surprised to see a kitsune on the streets; he _was_ youkai, but not because he had no right to be there –the youkai lived alongside humans with no problems. It was rather because most orphans were made such due to poverty or disease, but youkai were so much hardier than humans one almost never saw a youkai orphan.

The figure seemed to shrink slightly as he saw me come very close, but I pressed a finger against my lips and smiled at him before kneeling down.

"What's your name?" I asked, quietly. He looked at me doubtfully for a second – I didn't blame him, I mean, I was as likely as the next person to try to get rid of him for the sake of 'cleaning the streets' – but to my relief, he did answer me, in a small piping voice.

"I'm called Shippou," he muttered, coming forwards into the light so I could see a little more. I was surprised to find that he was actually too young to take on complete human form, and that he had two fox legs, and a gorgeously fluffy fox tail. How cute!

"Are you hungry?" I asked him, nodding at the bakery across the way. He frowned at me, as though he was trying to see my intentions.

"…Yes." He finally replied. "But I haven't got any money to buy the food, and I'm not going to steal it." He looked at me with determination in his grass-green eyes and I smiled back.

"Then let me buy it for you," I stood up, and motioned to him to stand by my side. "What would you like? Don't worry, I swear I won't harm you," I added, seeing him poised for flight. "I hate seeing people – or youkai – in trouble, that's all, so I'd like to help."

He was hesitant – well, that was understandable; if a strange girl with her face half hidden in a headscarf came up to you, and offered you food, wouldn't you be? But I was relieved when he came to stand by my side, and took the hand I offered him. It felt a bit strange; Souta is ten, and he grew out of hand-holding years ago, but when Shippou held my hand that first time, it reminded me of my brother when he was small.

We walked up to the baker's together, and, since Shippou seemed quite incapable of asking for anything, I chose some sweet bread that he could have, and also bought a loaf of plain bread that was wrapped in cloth to help it keep a while. The baker shot us both an odd look; clearly I was human, which meant that Shippou was equally clearly not my child, but he didn't say anything about it, and I didn't volunteer the information, and so he found out no more about it.

I handed Shippou the bread, and he took it, his tail curling and his head tilted to one side as he thanked me.

"Be careful with that loaf," I warned him. "I won't be around for the next couple of days, so it'll have to last until I see you again."

He looked up at me again, wrapped bundle under one small arm, the other holding the sweet bread up to his mouth. "Again?"

I nodded. I had already made my mind up about this; whereas there are a few shelters for human orphans, they do not cater particularly well for the few youkai street-children – presumably because there are so many different types of youkai in existence. Possibly in the future there will be more – and better – shelters, but currently precious few are around; too few for the numbers of orphans.

"I can't sit around whilst someone I know is in trouble," I smiled and knelt down. "So when I'm around, I'll help you if I can, and try to give you food."

"Really?" He looked like he wanted to believe me, but wasn't sure. I paused, wondering what to say next.

"Really. Tell you what; if you take me to roughly where you are living at the moment, I'll know where to find you. You don't have to actually show me, if you don't want to -" I added hastily, to reassure him I wasn't going to come back later with a bunch of anti-street-rat attackers, " – just so I can give you some food, and maybe some of the other orphans that live near you."

When he eyed me then, I thought for sure he was going to dash off, but he took my hand in his, adjusting the bread bundle under his arm as he tugged gently. "It's this way."

Sometimes I wonder how anyone knows their way around my city. Tokyo is a maze of dusty, narrow streets, half-lit with blinding sunlight, half shadowed by the ramshackle sandstone dwellings which line the roads. Alleyways lead off everywhere, taking you under small arches and under high washing lines, before you end up on a different street which looks almost the same as the one you just left.

That day, the day I met Shippou, was market day, and even the small streets around the merchants and vendors were bustles of colour, but the little kit lead me through the hot, sunny labyrinth confidently, and I barely had a chance to memorise the route before we had emerged from between two large buildings and I found myself out in the open on a sandy path. Behind me was Tokyo; the buildings packed together and the people still crowding, but here was much more open, from the temporary tents and lean-tos which were dotted around, to the long wooden walkway which ran alongside the Tama to give the merchants who came by boat something to moor to.

Shippou had actually lead me to the very edge of the city, somewhere I had not really been before. I mean, I had visited it with my family, but one can't get a sense of what a place is really like when one is surrounded by soldiers and guards. So, whilst Shippou lead me slowly along the wooden decking, past the brightly coloured boats which bobbed up and down on the fast-flowing waters of the Tama, I gazed around and took in the sights which made up another side of Tokyo.

There were merchants walking around, merchants in robes, in flowing foreign dress, mingling with the people of my city. People shouted and yelled and laughed, just like in the market-place, happy despite the impossible heat that day. The Tama was a rushing train of silken water, and to me it seemed bluer than the sky, the white froth of the waves that lapped against the banks looking like wild clouds that skittered across the heavens when the wind blew. In small coves, where the river flowed slower, some people bathed, and children paddled, glad to be spared of the wrath of the sun for a small time.

Across the wide river, I could see Edo, the bank filled with people just like ours was, the city made up of the same sort of buildings ours was, and the merchant boats and ships moored on a wooden deck just like ours. I suppose it was at that moment that I began wondering just why Tokyo and Edo had to be rivals, why I couldn't visit that other palace and see for myself if it was the same as our own, nor walk down the rambling streets, why I couldn't cross the bridge between us.

There is actually a bridge over the river, I'm not just speaking (or writing) metaphorically. It spans the entire distance between the two cities, a wooden structure that gracefully arches over the blue, blue waters of the Tama, wide enough for merchant carts to pass two abreast. However, it is really only merchants and travellers who use the bridge; none of the people of Edo or Tokyo visit the other city (particularly not now, but that should change soon).

In any event, it was to this bridge that Shippou lead me, but rather than heading towards the small wooden guardhouse that sat in the middle bridge's entrance, he pulled me towards the side of the structure, where I could see a small rocky almost-path down the four metre banks of the river. It was down this Shippou gestured, and together we clambered down towards the rushing water.

I was surprised how easy it was to actually get down, although I did have to hitch up my long clothing to do so. I hated the fact that I had to wear ridiculously long dresses and robes when I snuck out, but it was a necessity if I wished to remain anonymous. As I readjusted my head-scarf, I felt Shippou take my free hand again, and tug my sleeve to get my attention.

"This is where I live," he told me.

At first I blinked, trying to get my eyes to adjust to the shadowy view in front of me compared to the blinding sunlit walkway above us. Then, as my eyes decided not to fight me any longer, I looked in wonder at the small, flat… well, I suppose the best word would be plateau underneath the bridge. The steeply sloping riverbank made up a sort of wall at the back of the area, where it was met with the wooden planks of the bridge as it soared out over the Tama, forming a roof. To the left and right of the bridge were the thick, wide, V-with-a-few-extra-lines supports of the structure which some carpenter must have taken years to get just perfect, and these created the feeling of two further walls. The flat space in-between the three enclosing parts seemed to be fractionally above the level of the Tama, because as I clambered over one of the thick wooden bars into Shippou's home I found that the river was flowing strongly just a few feet away.

Without looking, I knew that this place could not be seen from above – or from the side, and wondered how on earth Shippou had found this little haven; a particularly low part of the riverbanks, directly under the bridge.

"It's amazing," I whispered, hearing my voice rebounding softly off the rocky surroundings. "And you live here all by yourself?"

He scuffed the floor with one foot, looking down. "Normally, but sometimes Souten comes to visit." He gestured behind him, to the darkest part of his little hideaway, and I could see a small pile of blankets, and two cushions. He had placed the bundle of bread there whilst I had been gawking at my surroundings, and, for a cave-like abode, it actually appeared quite homelike.

"Souten?" I asked, gently, "Who's that?"

He took a bite of the sweet bread he had been carrying, and chewed thoughtfully for a little before answering me. "She's an orphaned youkai, like me," he replied at last. "It's a bit odd, because each of our families are responsible for the other's death, but I like her a lot!"

I wasn't entirely sure what to say to this, but decided to go with the 'nice girl friend' aspect rather than the 'family dead' one. "So she's your friend then?"

He nodded, and I noticed his eyes light up. I had never been in love before, (that annoying foreign Prince Kouga didn't count, it was a diplomatic courtship, and luckily it was decided that he would marry the girl – youkai – he actually loved, so now we're just friends), but I knew the signs, and tried not to smile too much.

I stayed a little longer, chatting a bit to the little kit as he finished his bread, and I promised him that I'd visit with enough food for Souten as well as himself next time – "perhaps you could have a little dinner together?" I asked. He blushed, and I laughed and told him that I'd be back in a few days.

It was only when I was leaving that he seemed to realise something, and tugged at my sleeve.

"What is it?" I asked, curious at the question in his eyes.

"What's your name?" he asked, sounding a bit uneasy.

Oh. That was right. Geez, where were my manners?

"I'm called Kagome," I smiled and removed my headscarf so he could see my face, and hair.

Shippou blinked at me for a few seconds. Then: "You're the _princess?_" He asked, incredulously.

I knelt down again, so I was eye to eye with him. "Yes, I am, but don't tell anyone I was here, please. I snuck out of the palace."

I will never know what exactly he thought right then, about princesses who fed orphans and wore peasant clothes and snuck out of their palace, but I remember being incredibly happy about his answer. "I won't," he told me after a few moments, "but can you come again? I like you even if you are a princess. Some of the nobles I've met before are really spoilt and mean, but you're different."

I think that, if I had been planning not to return, this may have changed my mind, although I did wonder what the kit meant by 'other nobles'. It is rare in anyone's life that a person likes them for who they are; many individuals are all about appearances. In my life, it is more unusual still, and even if someone is introduced to me as Kagome-the-girl, as soon as they find out that I'm actually Kagome-the-princess their whole attitude changes. The people I met that didn't care about Kagome-the-princess, of whom Shippou was the first, are the people who I really consider friends.

"I'll come back," I told him, "but if you see me around alone, then call me Kag, or some variation. Kagome is a bit too recognisable."

"Okay!"

And with that comment, I took my leave.

It felt a little strange to go back into the heat of the sun after the shade of Shippou's dwelling, and once I had managed to clamber up the rocks and emerge onto the decking without anyone the wiser, I had to stand still for a few moments to adjust. As I stood there, probably looking a little silly blinking like I was, I heard the tell-tale bongs echoing throughout the city, meaning it was an hour before noon. (In Tokyo, a man is paid to stand in one of the tallest towers in the city and hammer a gong according to the hour. I used to find it a bit strange, but I'm told it's an honour.) Good, that meant I had just over an hour to get back to the palace before I was missed.

I chose to take a more direct route back home than the mad maze Shippou had lead me around; for one thing it would be quicker, and for another, I remembered there was a fountain not far from the bridge where I might be able to get some water.

Given the sort of day it was, I had imagined there would be many people surrounding the fountain, but it was actually quite quiet, the majority of merchants and families hurrying home to be out of the midday heat and taking no notice of the jet of water shooting up into the air to fall in small rainbows into a wide pool of azure. The fountain itself was fairly simple; just the pool of water maybe two or three feet deep, and in the centre three smaller pools, each on-top of the other like a balancing act, the water spraying out of the very top. As I came closer I could see carvings adorning the centre-piece; flowers intertwining underneath the cascading water, roses, lilies and irises carefully inscribed into the stone. The outside of the main pool was the same, and it was when I was walking around it, trailing my hand in the cool, clear liquid that I saw someone else sitting – lying rather - on the edge of the fountain.

Anyone who knows me will tell you that I am no romantic. I have never believed in love at first sight, because, in my opinion, anyone who loves a princess at first sight loves money and wealth and power. Lust is something entirely different, of course, but love and lust do not always go hand in hand. However, when I looked at the figure lazing against the stone of the fountain, I felt… something stirring in my chest that I didn't even know existed. It was only small; a slight twinge, the feeling you get when you see someone familiar to you but can't quite recognise them, but it was definitely there as I looked at that figure for the first time, one hand dangling in the water as they lay flat on their stomach, head turned away from me. Whatever that feeling was – and even now I'm not sure – it made me do something I would not normally do: I approached the figure.

As I got closer I could see that it was a man – or boy – or maybe in-between, and he was hanyou. He wore red, long flowing robes of red, and his silver hair, even longer than my own, splayed across his back in soft cascades. The give-away he was not human, his fluffy-looking puppy-dog ears, poked out of his hair, occasionally twitching but generally still as I approached. I'm not entirely sure how much time passed as I came up to that figure, but for me it seemed almost like a dream, and then I was there, next to him, and time continued its inexorable rush forwards.

As I said earlier, hindsight is a wonderful thing, and possibly now I think back, it was not the best idea to reach one trembling hand in front of me and reach out to that figure's ears. I mean, for all I knew, he could have been a mad killer hanyou, hiding out by the riverside for an easy getaway. Fortunately for me, despite my gentle stroking of those wonderfully soft ears, he did not shoot upwards ready to murder the girl behind him, and remained asleep.

Or so I thought.

"I saw you with that little runt just then. You did a good thing." I snatched my hand back as he spoke, surprised at the tone; soft like he had just woken up, but melodic, and light.

"I'm sorry… you… I…. what?" I blinked, startled. I was glad that I wasn't meant to be Kagome-the-princess at that moment, because I would have seriously embarrassed my family with that oh-so-eloquent reply.

He sat up then, moving in one fluid motion, and I could see that he wore a sword strapped to his side. Then he looked at me, and I was taken aback by his eyes; molten-gold fires which seemed to see right through my own. He stretched and yawned slightly, and stood up. Now, I'm not particularly small, but this hanyou was at least a head over my height, and I was forced to look up as he spoke again.

"You're no commoner." He sniffed slightly as he said it, and I realised that he must have a sensitive nose, because my disguise was visually perfect. But no commoner would be able to bathe in a bath of flower petals, and I had done so the previous night, and apparently still smelt of lavender.

"Neither are you," No-one but a noble would wear a sword with that much ease. All the long lessons about how to speak to a diplomat came flooding back to me unexpectedly; I had to tread cautiously. "But I do not know your face."

He shrugged at me. "You live in Tokyo?"

"Yes." I wondered what the question had to do with anything.

"Then you wouldn't have seen me before."

I opened my mouth and closed it again. Okay, what did that mean?

He turned away slightly, seeming to make a decision. "Are you hungry?" he turned back to me. "It's nearly noon, and I've been outside for hours!"

"I… yes," I replied, now completely unsure what to make of this boy.

"Then can you tell me where I can get some food?" his voice took on a whiny tone, and I had to chuckle.

"I passed a merchant back a little ways who sold sweetcakes," I commented. "I'll show you if you want."

"Thanks." He paused to pull up a hood I hadn't noticed onto his head, which completely covered his ears and shadowed his face. I suppose silver hair is a little recognisable.

"You snuck out too then?" I asked, amused. He coughed.

"Yeah. But I'll get into way more shit than you will if I'm caught." I raised my eyebrows. How interesting. A noble who could talk like a real person.

We started walking together towards the stall I had seen, and I cast about for a topic of conversation. I do appreciate silence, but this stranger intrigued me, and I could only discover so much about him from simply looking.

"How do you know Shippou?" I asked, suddenly remembering his first words when he woke up. Or chose to tell me he was awake; I wasn't sure.

"Brat gets around," he replied. "I've helped him out of a spot before, and I visit sometimes."

"I see." I said, thoughtfully. Then a second thought came to me. "What about Souten?"

The hanyou stifled a laugh, but couldn't hide the smirk which appeared on his face. "Yeah, I know her too. Those two are an interesting combination."

"I could see that Shippou cared for her," I paused, "What do you mean by 'interesting combination?'"

This time my companion didn't try to stop the laugh. "Well, last time I saw them together, they were having an acorn fight."

"Acorn fight?" I asked incredulously. "What's that, throwing acorns at each other?"

"Exactly," he affirmed, ignoring my surprise. "They really are children."

"And I suppose you're not?" I frowned, wondering how old he actually was. He appeared about my age, but with youkai, one can never be sure.

"Nope," he glanced at me. "I'm about sixteen in human years."

"I'm fifteen," I answered his unspoken question.

"Hmm, you're of marriageable age then. Your folks set you up yet?" He sounded slightly bitter; clearly there was a story here.

"No," I replied truthfully. "My mother told me that she would only force me to marry if I don't fall in love by the time I'm twenty."

"Che," he replied. I frowned. Not really much of a talker, was he?

"You?" I asked.

"Not anymore," he muttered. At my questioning look, he continued. "I was engaged, but I didn't love her in the way that I should have, and I respected her too much to hurt her. Still do," he commented, "So I broke it off."

"That doesn't sound unreasonable," I noted. It certainly put him higher in my esteem.

"I suppose. You look a bit like her, actually," he turned his amber eyes on me again. "But you smell different."

"Smell?"

"Inu hanyou."

Ah. That made sense. In fact, speaking of smells, I could smell a delicious one – of baked cakes. I hadn't noticed the distance we had walked, but here was our merchant.

In the background, a gong chimed.

"Shit!" My companion swore. "I've got to get back!"

I blinked, and then thought. "That was the noon gong, wasn't it?" He nodded. "So have I!"

Abandoning all thoughts of food, the two of us ran down the decking, me holding my headscarf as it threatened to fall off. At the bridge, we paused, as if knowing that this was where we parted.

"What's your name?" I asked him, as he made to bound off.

"Yasha," he said after a moment's pause. "That's my street name."

"Then I'm Kag."

"Right." He nodded, and then took off again. I decided that was a good idea, and started running too. In fact, I ran all the way back to the palace, through the maze-like streets, past the merchants bellowing hoarsely, and slipped into a side-gate before too long had passed.

It was only when I was safely inside, leaning against a familiar wall and panting hard, that I realised something.

That boy had run across the bridge.

I closed my eyes in confusion as a cool breeze weaved its way through my hair.

* * *

Cyclamen (Prologue) – Resignation, goodbye.

Purple Lilac – I feel the first emotions of love.

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Well, what do you think? I think I quite like writing in first person…

_Constructive_ criticism is welcome!


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